The number of electric cars sold in Britain has fallen by a third since the start of the year, amid concerns that motorists are being put off by high prices, limited battery range and a lack of roadside charging points. These are the opening words of an article in the Times this week (Electric car sales tumble over price and plugs). The question is, are these just inevitable teething problems or are the plans for a grand phase out of internal combustion engines fatally flawed at this stage of technology development?

This is a young market and doubtless prone to hiccups, and a key factor in its growth is government policy. In the UK as in many other countries sales of electric vehicles are subsidised to develop the market. At present, this means a grant of £4,500 per car, which cynics might categorise as rich consumers being given a price reduction by poor taxpayers, since the majority of purchasers are comparatively affluent first adopters. Since the claimed advantages of battery power are also more relevant to urban areas and relatively short trips, this is also in part a subsidy for prosperous city-dwellers at the expense of their country cousins. In any event, this is a form of regressive taxation.

The future of this grant seems in doubt: the Times reports it is to end in April although it seems unlikely that the government will not extend it in some form. In practice, its absence might make little difference to the early adopters, who have made the pricy Tesla model S as common a sight on Britain’s roads as the more mainstream Nissan Leafs (Leaves?) and Renault Zoes. But affluent consumers who can afford to buy the latest toys and environmentally-conscious city-dwellers are not enough to create sustained growth and a switch away from petrol and diesel.

The Times article quotes figures from the Society of Motor Manufacturers and Traders, showing that less than a thousand fully electric cars were sold in the UK in the first two months of the year. The total for the whole of last year was 13,600, which sounds high but still represents just half a percent of total sales. More popular by far are hybrids. Over 11,500 conventional/electric hybrids were sold in January and February, of which more than 3,800 were plug-ins. This compares to just 990 pure electric cars.

Despite the relative popularity of hybrids, we should put this in perspective. The total number of hybrids and electric vehicles sold in the UK in the first two months of the year is just 12,500, or a tad over 5% of the total. There is no major shift in the market away from petrol and diesel engines. And to give a better gloss on the situation, governments, including the Westminster one, when speaking of the growing market for electric cars, deliberately conflating the various categories.

The reality seems to be that consumers who move from conventional cars are much more interested in hybrids that purely electric cars, and only about two thirds of hybrid owners are shelling out for the plug-in versions. Even these have severely limited range on battery; fine for short commuting, but the engine is certainly needed for anything more significant. Given that they come at a significant price premium to shorter range, non-plug-in hybrids, their market is currently limited.

These facts have to be seen in light of the stated intention of both the UK and French governments to halt the sale of purely petrol- or diesel-fuelled cars by 2040. Many politicians are indeed upping the ante on this, for example we read this week that MPs warn of ‘poisonous air’ emergency costing £20bn a year, and have demanded a faster phase-out of the internal combustion engine.

Despite the headlines, air quality has improved considerably over recent decades. The problems that remain – nitrogen dioxide and small particulates – tend to exacerbate existing health conditions and it would surely be a benefit the air we breathe could be cleaner still. But the real problems are localised, particularly on busy urban streets and next to main roads, and don’t affect the whole country. Local solutions may be needed for local problems.

If all the cars currently on the road could be removed overnight, the problem wouldn’t disappear. PM2.5 and other small particles come from a variety of other sources, and nitrogen dioxide is found in the flues from gas boilers, for example. If all cars in cities were replaced by electric vehicles – assuming the logistical problems of charging could be overcome – the cars would still put additional particulates into the air from brake and tyre wear.

Using the latest petrol and diesel engines would contribute a small amount of nitrogen dioxide, but in other respects would be very similar to using battery power. But the big difference is it would be more affordable for the average motorist, and the existing refuelling infrastructure could accommodate it.

The other factor, which we can forget now that air pollution is such a big issue, is carbon dioxide emissions reduction, the reason why so many people were encouraged to buy the now-demonised diesel cars in the first place. Switching to the latest petrol and diesel engines would reduce emissions in comparison to older cars, but electric vehicles could in principle cut them further. The elephant in the room, though, is the need to do this using low-emission electricity generation.

Generating capacity would need to be significantly increased to cope with charging demand and, in the absence of new nuclear stations in the short to medium term, this would doubtless be wind and solar farms, needing additional gas-fired backup. The net effect on emissions is unlikely to be large, if power is to be delivered when it is needed.

If I was a betting man, I’d put my money on the car fleet in 2040 being largely hybrids rather than pure electric. Simply waving a magic policy wand won’t achieve the impossible.

Last week, I mentioned Elon Musk’s deep pessimism about the impact of artificial intelligence on the human race. I don’t share that pessimism, but it seems to be one of the key motivators of this driven, innovative and (so-far) very successful individual. Musk is one or a kind, combining analysis of problems from first principles (so deciding that space travel should be cheaper and easier than it seemed, for example) with creativity, showmanship plus the essential quality of being able to convince investors to take a chance.

He also mixes the ability to take a broad view of complex issues and products with a degree of micro-management (nano-management, in his own words) that keeps him aware of all the small details that need to be right. He seems something like a blend of Steve Jobs and Richard Branson, but his scope and ambition goes far beyond theirs.

Having co-founded a web software company (called Zip2, publishing online city guides) he made $22 million from its sale just four years later. $10 of this he used to co-found an online email payment company (X.com), which later merged with PayPal, of which he became CEO. Just two and a half years later, he was $165 million richer, following the sale of the company to eBay.

Most people might have expected to continue investing in Internet service companies such as this, but Musk had other plans. Even while running PayPal, he had put forward the idea of landing a miniature greenhouse on Mars (Mars Oasis) and had begun to explore how this could be done.

The difference is that Musk is a scientist by training. He has a degree in physics (plus one in economics) and had started a PhD in applied physics at Stanford before leaving to start life as an entrepreneur. X.com and PayPal made his initial fortune, but his ambitions were wider than that. More than a clever and charismatic businessman such as Richard Branson, more than a design- and detail-obsessed Steve Jobs, he wants to achieve big goals that are defined by his understanding of the basic limitations of physics.

This is driven largely by his pessimistic view of the future of human life. Giving us the wherewithal to colonise Mars could create an alternative future for a society that he believes likely to carry the seeds of its self-destruction, whether that be via the unintended consequences of artificial intelligence or the impact of our activities on the climate and environment of our home planet.

So, to build on his ‘Mars Oasis’ concept, he tried to buy surplus intercontinental ballistic missiles from the Russians, only to refuse to pay the price they demanded. He reckoned he could run a profitable business while reducing launch costs by 90%. $100 million went into setting up SpaceX in 2002, even before PayPal had been sold. Musk was still only 31 at the time.

Being CEO and Chief Technology Officer of such a company would be more than enough for most people, but in 2004 Musk became chairman of Tesla, following his large investment in the then year-old company. In 2008, he became CEO of Tesla and very much its public face. Despite missing a series of challenging production targets, the company has kept the confidence of investors and now has a stock market valuation greater than either Ford or General Motors.

Musk also was behind the launch of SolarCity, now a major manufacturer and supplier of solar panels and a wholly-owned subsidiary of Tesla. Supplying batteries for electric vehicles and as backup for renewable energy, the enormous Gigafactory 1 in Sparks, Nevada, is now ramping up production, and a second one is planned for Buffalo, New York.

None of this activity seems to have reduced the efforts of SpaceX, which recently used its giant Falcon heavy rocket to send a Tesla roadster into space. The company makes its own engines and can now recover booster rockets, a significant step towards the goal of cutting the cost of space travel by a factor of ten. The next development slated is an even more powerful launch vehicle than the Falcon heavy, known as the BFR (yes, it really does stand for what you’re thinking!).

Add in the Hyperloop concept for rapid transit (being taken to a practical level by Branson-backed Hyperloop One), the Boring Company (trying to reduce the cost of tunnelling by a factor of ten), plus OpenAI and Neuralink, which respectively seek to minimise the dangers of AI and use implants to merge human and artificial intelligence, and it seems that Musk’s ambitions and capabilities know few bounds.

I have to say that I was dubious about what he was offering via Tesla and SpaceX, when I thought of him as just another clever tech entrepreneur who had identified opportunities addressing high-profile societal concerns. But, whether or not you believe he is right to be so concerned about humankind’s future, the fact is that he is using the principles of physics, coupled with innovative design and economies of scale to develop practical and economic answers to the problems identified.

This is true science-based entrepreneurism that holds the potential to provide practical, game-changing leaps in technology. At the moment, many of his hugely ambitious targets are being missed, but investors are still happy to go along with that as long as they see real progress being made. Teslas are a common sight on our streets and SpaceX provides the preferred and most economic launch platform for now. One of his enterprises – most likely Tesla given the rate it is spending money – could go bust, but it is still likely to have transformed the car market in the meantime.

Elon Musk may be unique for the moment, but we can only hope he is blazing a trail for other visionaries who see hard opportunities justified on scientific principles and have the guts and determination to make them work. Whatever his motivation and however his various businesses pan out, he deserves a toast.

For decades, writers and film makers have imagined a world in which computers and robots have advanced to the stage where they are, at least in some respects, more capable than their creators. Science fiction allows us to explore both the practical and moral implications of such changes, but we are now perhaps on the cusp of science fiction becoming science fact, when potential problems will become of more than just theoretical importance.

Many of the imagined worlds are dystopian and serve as a warning and we should certainly always be aware of the unintended consequences of what we do. But artificial intelligence – the usual name for the technologies that will underpin our brave new world – is likely to bring enormous benefits. The debate has started, but it’s already polarised, with some public figures (Stephen Hawking and Elon Musk among them) being deeply pessimistic about the impact of AI.

Pessimism and risk avoidance seem to be the default position of many people today, and precaution is increasingly being codified into regulation, at least in Europe. But precaution has its costs and could endanger the very innovation on which our future may depend. On the other hand, innovation doesn’t have to come from Europe or America as it usually has in the past. Many citizens of rich countries, despite real problems for those struggling on the lower rungs of the social scale, have lost the drive to improve and tackle challenges. Tomorrow’s game-changing developments may come from China, from India or from immigrants benefitting from rich country university education. But the deciding factor may be the regulatory and cultural environment, which can either foster or discourage them.

However, the factor that may still militate against stagnation and a quashing of inventiveness in rich countries is the ready acceptance both of things that improve lives and of novelty. AI has the capacity to deliver both in abundance. The problem is that, as the capabilities of AI increase, they may get out of human control in ways that we cannot conceive. Already, large computer programs are so complex that even the programmers don’t fully understand all that goes on through the intricate lines of code they have written.

When machine learning is involved, as employed by the chess- or go-playing computers that can now beat any human player, really understanding what is going on in silico becomes even more difficult. It’s easy under these circumstances to believe that we may be capable of creating something approaching artificial consciousness, with unknown consequences.

A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

He later added a fourth law to precede the others (the zeroth law):

A robot may not harm humanity, or, by inaction, allow humanity to come to harm.

These have been mulled over, tweaked and had their potential consequences examined in a variety of fictional situations, but the truth is that there is (as yet, at least) no foolproof way to codify programmed behaviour that is incapable of causing harm. In practice, what we define as artificial intelligence is a spectrum of capabilities which we are only now beginning to tap into. And the first embodiments will be very far from the humanoid robots envisaged by Asimov and others.

Autonomous vehicles may not be far away. Modern cars already use sophisticated software to manage their engines, and processing capabilities (effectively the speed of data handling) have evolved to the stage where cars can theoretically operate safely on public roads. There are remaining problems, of course. Some are of a technical nature, such as ensuring the control systems can detect all likely hazards and that they are fail-safe. Others offer moral dilemmas.

In particular, although self-driving cars should in principle be safer than ones driven by real people, they will still encounter hazardous situations in which some kind of damage limitation is needed. Then, it may come to a choice between protecting the occupants and avoiding harm to other road users. Whereas a human driver would instinctively try to take evasive action, computers don’t have instincts, only programmed behaviour.

If someone is badly injured or killed in an incident involving an autonomous car, public reaction would be different than if the car had a human driver. Human error is accepted, but mistakes by machines are less forgivable. The parallel is with railway travel: the safety record is much better than for roads, but the rare fatal accidents often lead to calls for expensive additional safety measures.

What we have to bear in mind is that, whatever the downsides of any particular application of AI, be it accidents involving autonomous cars or anything else, they ultimately have a human cause. People have designed the cars, built and installed the sensors and, most importantly, written the software to control everything. If something goes wrong, it is because of the unforeseen consequences of a particular program, something unforeseen by the human programmer.

And so it has always been with things we now take for granted. Because something is new, it is very difficult to foresee all potential problems. Nevertheless, we continue to make progress as a species, as long as we recognise and correct our mistakes. Identifying potential major problems with AI, as Stephen Hawking and Elon Musk have done, should only serve to help us avoid them. It shouldn’t stop us trying to get the best out of innovation.

Certainty is usually thought of as a virtue, and we often regard those who lack firm views on an issue as indecisive or weak. In fact, it can be a mixed blessing, with a refusal to change position sometimes leading to far more harm than good. At the extreme, the certainty that a particular ideology is right can have appalling consequences; Stalin, Mao and Pol Pot’s ostensible attempts to build perfect socialist societies resulted in terrible suffering and millions of deaths.

On a more mundane level, a failure to recognise a change of public mood can mark the end of the road for democratically elected politicians as well. Margaret Thatcher’s fight against trade union power and introduction of the right to buy council houses brought popularity (with many), but her insistence on the hated ‘poll tax’ was a step too far for the Conservative Party.

Remaining in the political arena, Aneurin Bevan’s remark that Tories were ‘lower than vermin’ in 1948 (“…no amount of cajolery, and no attempts at ethical or social seduction, can eradicate from my heart a deep burning hatred for the Tory Party that inflicted those bitter experiences on me. So far as I am concerned they are lower than vermin”) reveals a hardness of opinion still unfortunately shared by some on the resurgent Labour Left.

Not that it is only the Left that is guilty; Winston Churchill’s speech in the 1945 election in which he said that electing a Labour government and the introduction of Socialism into Britain would require “… some form of Gestapo, no doubt very humanely directed in the first instance” was a serious miscalculation that contributed to the Atlee government’s large majority.

In the event, Churchill’s remark seems to have been a rhetorical overstepping of the mark rather than reflecting a visceral loathing such as Bevan’s. Churchill and Atlee worked together very effectively in the wartime National government and had a deep respect for each other. But the perception of certainty and intolerance no doubt led to greater polarisation and put the Conservatives firmly on the wrong side of history at that particular juncture.

In all walks of life, not just politics, Keynes’ dictum “If the facts change, I change my mind” should always be borne in mind. Even if the facts as known don’t really change, differences of perception or context may lead to a different interpretation. Nevertheless, far too many people are driven by belief or ideology rather than a rational assessment of evidence.

This leads them not just to reject opposing arguments but to ignore people they consider to hold the wrong opinions. A case in point is highlighted in this headline about the appointment of Neno Dimov, the Bulgarian environment minister, as president of the EU environment council: ‘Shocking’: Anger after climate change sceptic becomes EU environment chief. Mr Dimov was not elected to this position; it becomes his turn for the next six months during Bulgaria’s stint in the rotating council presidency.

Because he had previously made some controversial comments on climate change, he came in for some critical questioning when he appeared at the European Parliament: “Mr Dimov refused to discuss his opinion on climate change, saying there was a ‘political consensus’ within the EU when it came to climate change and that he would ‘keep this consensus alive’. However, he also said there was always room for ‘challenges and doubts’. Shortly after becoming environment minister last year, Mr Dimov told a television interviewer ‘climate change is a scientific debate; there is no consensus, and every part has arguments.’”

Admittedly, this is not the only issue over which Mr Dimov has clashed with environmentalists, but in this case he should surely be judged by his actions rather than his views. Far from being the black and white issue which many activists would have us believe, the scientific knowledge behind climate change and the technology behind rational approaches to mitigate potential negative effects continue to evolve.

Just as it is clear that the more extravagant claims about both the likely future rise in average temperatures and the impact of such changes have been generally accepted to be unrealistic, so a debate about how to take sensible action as part of a ‘least regrets’ approach is now overdue. In the current febrile environment, this is almost impossible. But if, for example, greater use of nuclear energy could both reduce CO2 emissions and provide a far more secure and stable electricity supply than possible with the current generation of renewables and energy storage technologies, surely the rational approach would be to at least consider the possibility seriously.

Perhaps this intolerance of dissent on environmental issues is just a symptom of a wider malaise in society. It certainly seems like it, when even the academic world seems intent on looking at historical figures and events through the lens of modern morality and cultural norms that have changed substantially in our own lifetimes. What started with ‘Rhodes must go’ has evolved to the point where a well-argued article by Nigel Biggar, and Oxford theology professor, that colonialism was not necessarily wholly bad has been roundly condemned by his peers.

The article in question – Don’t feel guilty about our colonial history – carried the tagline Apologising for empire is now compulsory but shame can stop us tackling the world’s problems. 58 academics wrote an open letter condemning Prof Biggar, also reported in the Times (Oxford academics attack Professor Nigel Biggar over defence of colonialism). How representative they are of academic opinion is a moot point, but the fact that there was not a rush to defend him suggests that even non-signatories of the critical letter feel unwilling to put their heads above the parapet in the current climate.

This piece has strayed a bit further from science than usual, but it is unlikely we can encourage tolerance and rational argument among scientists unless as a society we become more willing to acknowledge and listen to dissenters.

It’s not often that I get an opportunity to quote Private Eye, but here goes. In a column by ‘Old Sparky’ (issue 1462), under the headline ‘Real food for thought’ is a critique of the biomethane industry in general and Good Energy (a big player in the sector) in particular. To quote: “But, as with other bio-energy, biomethane is not always genuinely sustainable. And Good Energy, the big seller of so-called green gas, is disingenuous in what it tells its customers.”

The piece goes on to explain that the anaerobic digestion process is not terribly efficient, that bulky feedstuff needs to be trucked to the digesters and that CO2 makes up 39% of the output, alongside methane. Nevertheless, if it is waste biomass being processed, then there is a good argument for turning it into usable fuel. This is indeed what Good Energy promotes, telling customers that the biomethane is made from “waste, manure, sewage, decaying food…All the organic matter we source comes from food waste.”

Except it doesn’t. Anaerobic digestion (AD) can quite legally use non-waste (ie, edible food crops) for up to half of its feedstock. The company’s major biomethane supplier, based in Somerset, already uses about one-third food crops (beet in particular) in the biomass feed and seems set to increase it. The irony is that, as more attention is put on reducing waste along the food chain, so more food crops get processed in anaerobic digesters, and biomethane makes less and less sense.

It’s not difficult to find other examples of the message not living up to the reality. Bioethanol seems like a particularly egregious one. One of the key climate change policies implemented in both the EU and USA mandates that a certain proportion of biofuel has to be included in all petrol and diesel. In the case of petrol, this is currently bioethanol, made by fermenting starch from food crops.

In America, this means maize, and a large part of the US maize crop has been sold for this purpose in recent years. At one point, this contributed to high maize prices at a time of generally raised food prices and even led to protests in parts of Central America, where corn-based tortillas are a staple food. In 2016, the last year for which figures are available, about one third of the US maize crop was converted to biofuel.

The situation is similar for biodiesel. In this case, a relatively small amount of used cooking oil is reprocessed, but the main feedstocks are edible oils, generally rape in Europe and palm oil on a wider international basis. As well as diverting grains and oils from use as food, the expansion of oil palm cultivation is controversial because of the loss of remaining areas of Asian rainforest. But while biofuel production can disrupt food markets, constraints on biomass availability mean that it can only ever hope to replace a minor proportion of conventional motor fuel.

A third very clear example of the reality being less palatable than the public message is the use of biomass to generate electricity. Small quantities of pollarded willow and miscanthus grass are grown in the UK and elsewhere as energy crops, but the bulk of biomass used in Europe in this sector is in the form of wood pellets imported from America. The Drax Group generates about 7% of the UK’s total electricity from its vast, formerly coal-fired plant in East Yorkshire. Two thirds of this comes from biomass, almost entirely wood pellets, and a large proportion of these are shipped from the USA. The group’s own American operations supply 15% of this total, and the intention is to increase this proportion.

While the message is that Drax is producing clean, green energy, the reality is a little different. As a large and relatively modern coal-fired facility, the site was an efficient and reliable generator of electricity, but the introduction of carbon pricing meant its economic days were numbered. The result is the conversion (not yet complete) to a site burning biomass instead of coal.

For this, Drax receives public subsidies that make it a profitable business, because it ticks the right box in terms of emissions reduction. However, wood pellets are not only less energy dense than coal (and hence more costly to transport) but actually produce about 40% more carbon dioxide per unit of electricity. The only reason they are regarded as a better option is that the CO2 emitted is nominally reabsorbed over a period of time by newly-planted trees.

While this is technically correct, it seems somewhat misleading to describe electricity from biomass as clean and green when it is actually making a greater contribution to global warming in the short to medium term than the very coal it displaces. Since we are told repeated of the urgent need to reduce emissions as soon as possible, the active encouragement of biomass use has a certain Alice in Wonderland quality.

In a completely rational world, it would seem to make more sense to continue burning coal, while planting trees to fix the carbon dioxide emitted, which would be considerably lower than the amount emitted by burning wood. The point is that only certain ways of cutting emissions are regarded as good. This is why EU targets have included mandatory targets for use of renewable energy and, in the case of motor transport, biofuels. Policy in this area is ideological rather than rational.

One unintended consequence of the complex set of rules designed to achieve the goal – defining the pathway rather than simply the target – has been the replacement of gas-fired generators by coal-fired ones in Germany, the very opposite of what we might expect. One that is perhaps even more perverse is the plan to reduce France’s dependence on clean, reliable nuclear power by expanding renewable energy capacity. Just how this can be done without increasing emissions is not yet clear.

The message is simple: when it comes to choosing ‘green’ energy, caveat emptor.

Anyone who experienced the oil crises of the ‘70s and ‘80s will remember Sheikh Yamani, Saudi oil minister and leader of the then dominant OPEC cartel (in the days when oil was cheap and America hadn’t started exploiting its shale deposits). He is credited with saying that the Stone Age didn’t end because of the lack of stone, and the Oil Age wouldn’t end because of the lack of oil.

You can read many things into that, but it encapsulates an essential truth: in the energy sector, one source is likely to dominate for a particular purpose until something better comes along. ‘Better’ also means at least as economic. So, coal swept away wind and water power, the internal combustion engine replaced horse power, town gas meant the end of candles and coal (and then gas) displaced wood for heating. All of these made life better and became ubiquitous as more and more people could afford them.

In the course of time, all this will change. Ultimately, the writing is on the wall for petrol and diesel, not because of the receding mirage of Peak Oil, but because something better will come along. This could be battery power, it could even be hydrogen, but the chances are it will take some form that is not yet even close to commercialisation. But in the meantime change is being forced by the only means available other than market economics: public policy.

The logic is that, since emissions of so-called greenhouse gases (primarily carbon dioxide) are pushing average global temperatures up (to an unknown degree) and such a change could ultimately cause major problems, immediate action has to be taken to reduce emissions. Furthermore, this action has to be taken using the technology currently available, whether or not it is up to the task.

Ignore for the moment the fact that it is global emissions that determine the level of atmospheric carbon dioxide and, with the continued growth in particular of the Chinese and Indian economies, these are still increasing year on year. When they will peak is a moot point (although a recent projection is that global CO2 emissions to peak in 2026), but the later this happens, the greater the cutbacks needed in later years to avoid breaching the limit of a 2°C rise that modellers consider to be the point at which climate change becomes dangerous.

Ignore also the fact that we have not seriously begun to address the enormous problem of how to replace gas as the primary source of energy for heating. All that is being done so far is to reduce the CO2 emissions from electricity generation by moving from coal- to gas-fired power stations (although, in the case of Germany, perverse incentives have pushed up the use of domestic lignite in place of gas) and install increasing numbers of wind turbines and solar panels. At the same time, an ideological antipathy to nuclear power is seeing an accelerated run-down of the sector in Germany and, incredibly, the prospect of France increasing its emissions as it scales back its reliance on safe, cheap and reliable nuclear electricity.

None of this would have happened without government intervention. Free market economics are against it and so, although we talk glibly of ‘public subsidy’, it is the consumer who ultimately pays the price via higher utility bills. Similarly, we are being either encouraged or bullied, depending on your viewpoint, into buying electric or hybrid vehicles to replace pure petrol- or diesel-powered cars. By 2040, we are told we will have no choice. And, if others had their way, the transition would come sooner (Most new cars must be electric by 2030, ministers told).

But such cars are more expensive than their conventional alternatives, even with the ‘public’ (ie, taxpayer-funded) subsidy available. This means that they will appeal to a certain section of the car-buying public, but only the more prosperous ones, and the subsidy becomes a form of regressive tax rebate. Neither should we forget that a large infrastructural investment is needed to provide charging points; someone ultimately has to pay for this as well.

This whole exercise is, of course, futile unless it achieves significant cuts in emissions. The additional generating capacity has to be low carbon (in a rational world, probably based on nuclear energy) and integrated into the grid in such a way that the electricity supply is stable and reliable. Currently, conventional backup (mainly inefficiently-run gas turbines) is needed to keep the lights on. As more renewable energy capacity is added, the difficulties of integrating it increase and the benefits in terms of emissions cuts decrease.

Despite this, there is a general feeling in the business world that the demise of oil and coal is inevitable. This being so, it is perhaps not surprising to learn that Lloyds of London to divest from coal over climate change. They are following other insurers and organisations including the Church of England in taking this stance. This is partly reputational, but as hard-nosed businessmen, the board no doubt feels that profits can be as good elsewhere with less risk. After all, climate activists continue to preach that fossil fuel reserves could soon become stranded assets with little worth.

Whatever the reasons, pressure is increasing, and not just on coal. We can also read about Big Oil, climate change and the law. In America (naturally), BP, Chevron, ExxonMobil and Royal Dutch Shell are being sued for compensation for damage by superstorm Sandy to New York City in 2012. In California, 21 teenagers have a case against the federal government in the appeals court claiming that it “failed to protect their rights to life, liberty and property by promoting the use of fossil fuels”. And RWE is being sued in Germany by a Peruvian mountain guide because of its supposed contribution to the melting of a glacier, which is threatening his home town.

Change is being driven by government policy and campaigning pressure. So far, the general public are not generally complaining about the costs or disruption to their way of life. But all that could change if costs escalate, more changes are forced on people and no benefits are seen. If more focus was to be put on developing new technology, innovation and economics might mean that same public would willingly embrace more cost-effective changes that actually improve their lives.

In today’s world of blacks and whites, plastic waste is becoming a major target both of environmentalists and policymakers, and the benefits are being forgotten. This is an unfortunate trend, but typical of the highly precautionary mind-set that has put so much pressure on synthetic chemicals in general and crop protection and agricultural biotechnology in particular. Without a balanced view of risks and benefits, there is a danger of throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

But it wasn’t always like that. As synthetic polymers became commercially available in large quantities from the mid-20th Century, they were seen as new wonder materials with a host of valuable uses. Where wood, paper, cotton, wool or glass had been the only raw materials available, polyethylene, nylon, PET, polyester and a host of other polymers came to compete.

In some cases, their claimed advantages were transitory. Those who remember drip-dry nylon shirts and sheets will not miss them. But in other cases, the changes were profound and long-term. Without polymeric resins, mdf (medium density fibreboard and its variants) could not have been made, everyday furniture would have been considerably more expensive and our reliance on mature trees much greater, for example.

There is one area in particular in which plastics have been highly successful, but also have created problems: packaging. Plastics can be moulded, shaped and printed to give packs that both protect food and other goods and make them attractive to us. However, the durability that is a plus in the distribution chain is a liability once the packaging has served its purpose. When discarded, many polymers are essentially indestructible, even if the packs they form physically break down into smaller pieces.

The particular focus today is on plastic waste in the oceans, brought into especially high profile via the BBC Blue Planet 2 series. If a national treasure like David Attenborough highlights a problem, people tend to take notice. As some marine creatures feed, they ingest tiny pieces of plastic, and these may increase the mortality of their young in particular, by diluting the nutritional value of their food. Some creatures may even become entangled in plastic bags.

There is also the sheer scale of the problem to consider. Because of the nature of ocean currents, there are some places in the open sea where waste tends to gather in quantity, with the ‘great Pacific garbage patch’ being the most widely known. Mental pictures of floating rubbish are, however, very wide of the mark. This is in effect a large area of sea in which tiny degraded pieces of plastic (and other materials) are concentrated, with little if any large pieces visible to the naked eye. But it is these tiny pieces that can be ingested and build up in the food chain.

The problem is a much more visible one on shorelines and land, where discarded rubbish accumulates until it is physically removed. This is unsightly and unpleasant but, by and large it presents little real hazard to wildlife.

At heart, the problem is one of human behaviour. A minority of people choose not to dispose of rubbish properly and drop it in the street or dump it from cars or boats. If we could eliminate this behaviour, then there would be no environmental problem. However, this is too much to hope for in most societies and, in any case, we have to find suitable ways of disposing of or reusing packaging once it has served its immediate purpose.

There are those who call for the use of plastic packaging to be ended. ‘Plastic free’ aisles may soon appear in supermarkets, and Iceland is the first food retailer to announce their intention to eliminate all plastic packaging from their own-label products. While this may sound fine in principle, in practice it would make shopping for many items much more difficult.

In many cases, when what may appear to be excessive packaging is eliminated, food waste is increased. Carefully packaged ripe fruit would be more likely to become unsaleable. Meat in a modified-atmosphere packaging would have a shorter shelf life. In many ways, food waste would be easier to deal with – it could serve as a fermentation substrate to make a range of useful products, or methane as a fuel – but the logistics of collection have not yet been devised and food waste is itself an emotive issue at present.

If there is still to be a large quantity of plastic packaging in circulation, an effective way of increasing collection rates is needed. Many countries already have a deposit scheme for plastic bottles, as well as glass ones. In the UK, deposits are rarely seen, but whether 5p on a bottle of drink would make a difference to the kind of person who doesn’t think twice about throwing an empty bottle into the hedgerow is a moot point.

In Singapore, litter-free streets are the rule because of fines for littering, which are enforced. In the UK, it is almost unheard of for someone to be prosecuted for casual littering, despite the penalties in law. But where there is already a litter problem, regular clear-ups plus education campaigns may be the only way to change public attitudes.

Although recycling rates have increased, not all plastics can be recycled and there is insufficient demand for some recycled material to make it worthwhile to recycle all of it. China has recently stopped dealing with British plastic, for example. And ‘green’ plastics made from renewable raw materials (for example, various grades of polyethylene) do nothing for the waste problem.

In the short to medium term, we are left with just two practical solutions, neither of which is popular in today’s climate. One is landfill. Although out of favour, this cannot be completely ignored, particularly if the material buried is as inert as plastic. The other is incineration. Modern, high temperature incinerators produce clean exhaust gases and have the added advantage of recovering some of the energy inherent in plastics (and other materials) as heat. Combined heat and power plants can be very useful when situated in areas of high density housing.

The choices may not seem attractive ones, but realistically we are unlikely to see a major reduction in plastic packaging anytime soon. Given that, we have to find sensible and effective ways to deal with the waste problem. Efficient collection systems are a vital prerequisite, but in the present absence of viable ways to recycle the material, incineration must be regarded as a credible option.